Walk These Roads
by Napoleon Clocks
Summary: Through Spira's eyes. A character sketch of sorts. A drabble.


I do not own Final Fantasy.

Summary: Through Spira's eyes. A character sketch of sorts.

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"Walk These Roads"

I am beautiful, and I know that. My seas are blue and clear, my trees full and providing shade, my sunsets picture shows. I must be pretty to look at, pretty to live in.

But I am just land, soil and sea and people. That's all I am.

And yes here I am, helpless in the face of something that I can't control. I am here for my people--my children, I suppose you could say. I've been here long before Yevon. I've been here before Zanarkand or Bevelle were ever built. I have seen everything; I bear witness. And yet I can't do anything. All I can do is let people shape me, destroy or save me, use me, and walk my roads. I am here for them, even if they aren't here for me.

I hold ruins on my shoulders. They are the ruins of cities, buildings, lives in the now and in the past. I hold souls as well. I hold the souls of the living and the dead. And I hold them without complaint, letting them fight, letting them figure out their problems. I let them walk my roads. I allow them to cry into my rivers, my seas, touch my trees and ice and dirt. I wish that I could help them, but I'm only land. So instead I'll watch them, and be what they walk on. I'll be what they hold on to. I will be the last one to comfort them.

Inside my seas resides a creature filled with hatred and causes me pain. It kills. Even when killed, it is reborn. It ruins me, and ruins others. It creates the ruins--the ruins of cities, buildings, lives in the now and in the past. It's terror, and I must bear it as I bear everything else. If I could, my people, my children, I would tell you the truth. I would be able to tell you not to pray Him anymore, that there is no point. That they did nothing wrong. All they did what be human beings. I with I could tell them what He really is. Maybe then I could save them, and save myself.

It's sad, in a way, that a scrap of land knows this and they don't. I see everything, but do nothing. I am worse than Sin. If only I could move. I would pulled Him under, and all the other evil souls with Him. Then they could burn and I will save my people, my children. They might not even know that it was me who did it, but I wouldn't mind. The priests could say it was Yevon if they wanted. I wouldn't argue--couldn't argue. I will be happy though, if they are safe.

I watch the people as they walk these roads. Average people walk by, worried about Sin and praying to their cause of agony to end it all in a state of irony. Priests are priestesses spread the irony with their preaches and teachings. Crusaders beat their feet as they march off to try and help, though even the bravest, most determined one knows that their cause it hopeless, as do the Al Bed who assist them. Summoner parties venture my roads, heading off the edge of their world, off to the seas of Zanarkand. They square their shoulders and push onward, off to their deaths. And then Sin travels my seas, acting as the pathetic Yevon's armor, ready to kill them all. This is what my people, my children, call the Spiral of Death. And all those people, all those children, even the bravest and truly noble ones inwardly chewing their nails in fear of the unexpected aspects that make up their lives.

Dreams and the dead also walk these roads. Sometimes even dead dreams and those who are dreaming. The dead will disappear into a flurry of pyreflies eventually, when they are sent along with all the other souls that the summoners lead off to the Farplane. It is my afterlife, and I have made it beautiful for them, because there must be something that they look forward to. It is the one small thing that I can do. Good or evil, swirled or circled pupils, they go there. They have a place to rest. They have a place to go. They have a place where they can still exists.

Dreams though...they go nowhere. They just disappear. I wish I could help those, but I can't. Maybe one day I can, but not now. As they disappear, nothing beautiful such as pyreflies with bring them away. They have nothing. They just disappear as if they never existed. They can't go to the Farplane, though I have tried before. Fading is the worst fate imaginable, and I have to bear witness. They walk my roads, but they can't be helped they can't be saved. Even if someone whistled out there in the Farplane, tried to call them, they wouldn't come. Couldn't come. Because they don't exist.

My skies, they rain when I cry. And I must say that I cry quite often. The more Sin kill, the more I'll cry. But it's not my tears they I cry--I cry the tears of others. As each tear evaporates, it joins the water cycle and creates the clouds that will rain.

So I am despair and the home cruelty, and yet I am wrapped in beauty.

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I hope you enjoyed this. =)


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